


sweet exile

by IrisParry



Category: Phasma (Star Wars novel), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: First Time, M/M, dubious consent inherent in power dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 22:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/pseuds/IrisParry
Summary: Captain Cardinal stands guard over Armitage at trade negotiations while Phasma remains on theAbsolutionwith Brendol. Cardinal is a good soldier. He follows his orders. It should not give him this ugly, hollow feeling to do so.Armitage feels it too. It is clearer as the days drag on, every day at the negotiating table - and every evening in his suite in the guest quarters.





	sweet exile

**Author's Note:**

> So I read Phasma in, like, 2 days and immediately had to write something terrible. Thanks to [ClariceChiaraSorcha](http://claricechiarasorcha.tumblr.com) for encouragement - she wrote [an awesome post-Phasma kylux fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11989038) that you should def check out too! - and to [cosleia](http://cosleia.tumblr.com) for a read through and feedback! <3

Cardinal stands at attention. Mid-morning sun streams in through the tall transparisteel panels lining the far wall of the conference room, and it would be dazzling were it not for the polarising lenses of his helmet. It would likely be rendering this part of Mizar-2 near-uninhabitable were it not for the terraforming dome that encompasses the Sonn-Blas facility. He supposes the First Order delegation were seated at this side of the table to be impressed by the view but, after obligatory opening pleasantries, the officers have, of course, remained focused on the negotiations.

The prospective financiers, on the other hand, two twitchy humans in heavily embroidered velvets, keep twisting in their chairs to get a look outside, still awestruck on the fourth day and after a guided tour. Cardinal can practically hear Armitage grind his teeth every time. They, and the obsequious Twi’lek Sonn-Blas envoy, may be too stupid to recognise the younger Hux’s presence at the head of the delegation as a slight but Armitage is not, and though his manners remain impeccable Cardinal knows him well enough to register the little signs of frustration slipping through. At 25 Armitage has worked his way up the ranks enough to be impressive, but not to be able to avoid this kind of assignment, the kind that Brendol considers beneath him. Cardinal cannot help but observe that Armitage has often seemed to rise in spite of Brendol, not because of him. Or perhaps, he corrects himself, Brendol’s coldness toward his son is a lesson as much as the pride he shows in others. Cardinal should not presume to know.

Nor should he presume to know what Brendol intends _him_  to learn from this, if it is anything at all. Likely Brendol has larger concerns. Around this time of day, the General might be taking an early lunch. He might have a droid bring it while he sits in an observation room at the training facilities. Of course, his schedule and habits may be changing in Cardinal’s absence. Some nights, with sleep still evading him on the floor of the room adjoining Armitage’s suite - the beds of the facility’s lavish guest quarters are too soft - Cardinal thinks that a calculated slight might be preferable to one unintended, absent-minded.

Armitage sits poised at the negotiating table, his voice smooth and steady as he talks the group through the data projected between them. There is a hint of his father there, in his self-possession as much as his crisp accent. Armitage is far from a spoilt, whiny brat now, as Cardinal is far from an undisciplined child. Brendol Hux has forged Archex and Armitage into better creatures. Cardinal, at least, is grateful for this, and he remembers it whenever he feels a hint of resentment at his assignment. He consoles himself that Phasma is still too volatile to be trusted with this job, that the patient vigilance required does not suit her temperament. When Brendol needed delicacy and absolute loyalty, he came back to Cardinal. He has not been forgotten, not truly.

Cardinal subtly adjusts his stance, flexes his toes inside his boots. He is not particularly following the detail of the negotiations, save in the demeanour of the parties. Hired bodyguards accompany the financiers, alongside Sonn-Blas security: though they’re almost insultingly amateurish, and their attention is clearly drifting, all it would take would be a single blaster bolt. He can tell his red armour both impresses and discomfits them. They are wondering what kind of trooper this is, what kind of special skills or terrible weapons he has. Cardinal watches them, and watches Armitage, having agreed exit strategies and signals beforehand should they be needed. For all that these meetings are tedious, they are important and not without an element of danger. He knows that being here should not give him this ugly, hollow feeling. 

Armitage feels it too. It is clearer as the days drag on here, but Cardinal saw it in him from the start. Armitage spoke little on the journey, briefed his officers a final time then retired to his cabin to scowl at plans and tables of figures. Cardinal passed the time in hyperspace cleaning his armour, piece by piece, soothed by following the familiar steps in perfect order. Few smudges or scuffs had accumulated since the last time, but it would not do to give a sloppy impression at the meeting, and the task kept Cardinal’s mind from wandering, from dwelling on selfish matters.

His comm had crackled to life as he worked on the back plate - Armitage, requiring Cardinal’s presence. Cardinal can suit up from scratch in four minutes and fifteen seconds, but this was apparently not sufficient and he commed again two minutes later, irritable and insistent. Cardinal made a calculation of the pros and cons of making him wait longer, and reported immediately in his lower armour and body glove. Armitage had made it known that when matters were urgent he valued efficiency over standing on ceremony.

His sneer had frozen on his face a moment, but he said nothing, just lifted his chin and jabbed a finger at the schematic projected above the table. Armitage had consulted with him before about the new design proposals, recognising his practical experience, and about the layout of the facility for contingency planning: his questions were not new, and it occurred to Cardinal that perhaps he was not the only one seeking distraction through busywork. He answered Armitage as carefully and thoughtfully as before, though he could not help but notice Armitage was less attentive to his words. Cardinal saw how his eyes strayed from the holoprojection, and struggled to keep a flush from his cheeks as Armitage appraised his arms and shoulders, his torso, where the body glove fit tight.   

Cardinal is a good soldier. He keeps his body in peak condition, and of course it brings him pride to see his superiors’ approval.   

On Mizar-2 Cardinal cleans his armour every evening, a sheet spread out to protect the thick carpet of Armitage’s suite, sweat prickling all over his body beneath the clinging fabric.

Armitage is unmarried, Cardinal knows. His duties are his life, and sometimes Cardinal thinks they have much in common. They are of the Order but set apart, visible in a way the other troopers and officers are not. They carry that extra weight, the two of them - well, and Phasma now. 

Cardinal tightens his grip on his blaster. He cannot think like this. Armitage has skills and advantages Cardinal could never hope to emulate. Brendol has overseen him all his life, and for all they show each other little love, the guidance of such a man will shape a destiny without need for sentimentality. He watches Armitage gesture toward the plans above the table. In the sunlight his smooth hair is like a bright jewel, eye-catching in a way Brendol’s faded, greying red is not. Unlike Cardinal, Armitage has the luxury of delicacy, of refinement in his features and his tastes. Cardinal thinks of the austere elegance of his quarters; of how his uniform both augments and flaunts his slender frame. The sharp edges and clean lines are imposing, the shoulders embellished, but where the fit is close it shows he is a man who has others to build muscle on his behalf, others who could be summoned with a word should he be displeased. A display of a different kind of power. 

Cardinal silently checks his posture. _Chin up, shoulders back…_ They will break for lunch shortly, and he is looking forward to stretching his legs. Armitage, too, remains straight-backed and controlled. In his quarters in the evening he permits himself to slouch, sits back on the low couch with wineglass and datapad and watches Cardinal with sharp, glittering eyes.

Sometimes, with a sick feeling in his stomach, Cardinal remembers that Brendol Hux will not be around forever. Armitage will take his place, when that day comes, and he has Cardinal’s loyalty just as his father does. In Mizar-2’s bright sunshine, and in the dim of the guest quarters, far from the _Absolution_ and the _Finalizer_ , Cardinal feels there is some kind of choice before him now; or that he is already making it. He knows Armitage approves of his methods, trusts in him, and yet he finds himself seeking more of his ... favour. Cardinal is a good soldier, and that should be more than enough. He has not been looked at like he is anything else for longer than he can remember.  

Armitage dismisses him each night after inspecting his work. Cardinal stands tall, his gleaming armour spread out before him and his bodysuit clinging damply, surely leaving little to the imagination. He enjoys the attention and praise in a way he never has Brendol’s. The guilt comes to him later, alone in his own room, after he’s taken care of himself in the shower. It’s necessary maintenance, just like the armour. He cannot afford to become distracted. 

The financiers are staring blankly at the figures, and Armitage gestures to turn back to the previous set of tables. It’s going to be another long day.

 

*

 

Cardinal reports to Armitage’s suite after dinner as usual. Armitage dismisses the droid immediately on his arrival, setting a tingle of anticipation off in Cardinal’s belly as he puts his cleaning kit down on the side table. It’s not that he’s started to look forward to this, not exactly. It’s just that, after a day like today, the long stretches of boredom that almost made him wish one of those mercenaries would try something, it would be good to be reminded he can do something right. To be told he has done well. 

Armitage already has a glass in his hand and he paces at the far end of the room, caught half in the glow of the lamps and half in the clouded light from the moons outside.

“How do you think it went today, Captain?” Armitage asks, looking out at the sky, as if he wishes he could see the _Finalizer_ awaiting him.

“Slow but steady, sir,” Cardinal replies, unwilling to be dishonest but inclined to be constructive. “They’ve given some important ground.”

“Slow but steady,” Armitage says, quietly as if to himself, still gazing upward. “Slow but steady.” He snorts and takes a drink. “And what do you make of that?”

“Sir?”

Armitage turns to him and raises an expectant eyebrow. Cardinal removes his helmet, places it with care on the end of the long table, but he stops there, awaiting further instruction. Armitage approaches, boots soft on the carpet.

“I never took you for a fool, Cardinal,” he says, eyes narrowed, and Cardinal keeps his face carefully blank. “Do you not wonder why we are both here, coddling these Core tourists?” He takes another step closer. “Out of the way?” He is giving voice to Cardinal’s unhappiest fears, and seems to know it. He smiles humourlessly. “Do you not wonder what will be left of the programme when we return?”

“I follow my orders, sir,” Cardinal says, hating the waver he can hear in his own voice without the modulator.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Armitage says, sipping his wine, his tone almost conversational. He is close enough to tell the slight difference in their height, and he tilts his head up a little. “My father is always on the lookout for a new favourite.”

Cardinal swallows. “We are all working for the good of the First Order, sir. The good of the galaxy.” Even this, now, Armitage’s bitter suspicion, comes from that place. Yes, he wants to prove himself to his father; he may even want to spite him, to show he’s been underestimated, but fundamentally it’s because he believes he can do better work for the Order. And perhaps he believes that of Cardinal, too, or he would not speak this way.

Armitage takes another step, his glass still held between them like a shield. Cardinal thinks of Brendol, offering the crystal-cut glass of port the day he’d given him his new name. What Armitage offers, he is not so naive as to puzzle at. What Armitage would shape him into should he accept, he cannot tell. 

Armitage puts his hand out, presses his palm flat on the chestpiece of the red armour. Cardinal’s breath stutters, his heart giving an erratic thump. It is strange being so close to him, being touched but not touched. Nobody has touched Cardinal’s armour but Brendol, when he presented it. It feels more personal than his body, somehow. It’s what sets him apart in a sea of well-trained warriors, an honour that he alone has been able to earn.

Cardinal has to draw in a breath, the chest plate pushing back against Armitage’s palm. Armitage sips his wine, seems to take a second to compose himself before he looks up. He turns his hand, runs the backs of his fingers lightly down the plastoid.

“Will you take it off again?” he asks, careful, as if he can remove all traces of command from his voice. His palm has left the hint of a damp print on the armour.

Cardinal nods.

Armitage steps back and perches on the edge of the couch, and Cardinal sinks with relief into the routine of unclipping each component, familiarity cut with the slow buzz of excitement. He spreads the sheet to cover the carpet and places each piece down, utility belt and blaster, gloves and arm plates, shoulders, chest, back, groin and legs. The tall synth-leather boots with their durasteel caps. Armitage doesn’t take out his datapad this time, done with the pretence, and Cardinal feels his scrutiny acutely. Cardinal has pitied him, more than once through their acquaintance, though it is not his place to do so. Perhaps Armitage has felt this same festering grief every day of his life, this confusing mix of hurt and anger at … replacement. Perhaps he has also wanted this comfort, and will allow himself to reach for it now he thinks they’re on the same scrap heap.

By the time the armour is gone Cardinal’s physical reactions cannot be hidden, certainly not by the flimsy bodysuit. He has grown up in the military, shed much of the civilian sense of propriety about such matters, and tells himself he has no cause for shame. He pauses for a moment, unsure, and is about to reach for his kit when Armitage stands, drains his glass and puts it down.

When Armitage touches him again he is hesitant and trying not to be, in a way Cardinal has not seen for many years, not since Armitage was young and did not entirely know his power. He presses his palm to Cardinal’s chest again, frowns up at him as he slides it upward to his neck, fingers curling around, thumb up against his jaw, and he must feel Cardinal’s pulse thump. His other hand is a fist at his side. 

Empty seconds stretch by, Armitage’s lips parted and breath warm, until Cardinal turns to brush his lips to the inside of his wrist. His skin smells clean, like standard issue soap, and Cardinal closes his eyes to breathe it in, kisses again now it is too late not to. He put his hand over Armitage’s and leans forward to find his lips.

Armitage is still and silent but not stopping him, and then he leans closer, turns his head so their noses don’t bump. He raises his other hand to Cardinal’s face and adjusts them a few times, huffing frustrated little breaths. Their chests brush together, Armitage still in his smooth uniform tunic. He opens his mouth, slowly, and Cardinal follows, and the touch of his tongue is a startlingly intimate thing. 

Cardinal has never tasted wine before. It’s not sweet as he’d expected, but there is something about the warmth of it on Armitage’s breath - he chases it when Armitage pulls away, wants to put his hands on him but doesn’t want to go too fast.

Armitage is licking his lips and steadying his breath, his eyes cautious. “Cardinal,” he starts, “You have, ah. Done this before?” His cheeks are pink and Cardinal flushes to match, sees him realise even before he starts to shake his head. “Really? We all know it goes on,” Armitage says, disbelieving. “You don’t need to hide it from me.” Cardinal just shakes his head again. He’s disappointed Armitage already, racks his mind to think of how.

Armitage still touches him, biting his lip as he does when he is thinking sometimes, and Cardinal thinks of how his eyes traced over his muscle, the look on his face when he felt his chest rise and fall beneath the armour. _Will you take it off again?_ Armitage had expected different from an older, stronger man. He had not expected to have to give orders.

There is no part of Cardinal that can stand to let a Hux down. Swallowing down his rising panic, he sets his hands at Armitage’s waist, pulls them closer together and bends to kiss him again, remembering the things he had seemed to like best. Armitage makes a soft sound of surprise and then leans against Cardinal, arms snaking around him, appreciative hands running over the muscles of his back. 

Armitage will have the full benefit of Cardinal’s strength. Cardinal breaks off the kiss and dips a little to lift him, sliding his hands to pull Armitage’s thighs around his waist. His weight is hardly troubling, and though Cardinal knew this would be the case the confirmation is absurdly gratifying. Armitage laughs delightedly, clinging on around Cardinal’s neck and wriggling closer against his groin. His rare, genuine smile is a fine reward, and Cardinal lifts him higher, settles his weight closer, to see it again. Their arousal is undeniable in this position, and Armitage kisses him again with less finesse than he had demanded himself a moment ago.

At the dig of a heel into the back of his thigh Cardinal starts walking, peers over Armitage’s shoulder to find his way through the open door of the suite’s bedroom. The beds here are too soft for sleep but seem ideal for these purposes: he can stay pressed close to Armitage, let him feel his weight like he wants, with his back cushioned by layers of sheets and comforters in crisp whites and shades of blue. Armitage is still wrapped around him, rocking their hips together, his hands roaming everywhere. He pushes his fingers through Cardinal’s close-cropped hair, seems to enjoy the texture; his other hand runs down to take a grip on his backside, and Cardinal cannot help but gasp, the added pressure and friction almost overwhelming.

Armitage is breathing hard beneath him, his hair gone rusty dark at the temples. He releases his hold when he feels Cardinal buck against him, pushes at his shoulder.

“Stop,” he pants, and Cardinal lifts off him, props himself up on his arms. “This is - ” He pinches the body glove and lets it snap back taut against the skin. “How does this even come off?”

“Slowly,” Cardinal replies. There’s a hidden zip at the back but still if you are not careful you can get stuck, especially at the ankles.

Armitage has not caught this meaning and grins up at him. “Excellent.”

Cardinal stands to peel off the suit. Armitage sits on the bed and hurries off his boots, belt, tunic and jodhpurs, trying to watch the whole while. Cardinal has this process down as smoothly as anyone by now, and he feels that strange pride again, the small, private routines he has perfected being observed, judged, approved.

Armitage certainly approves. He sits at the edge of the bed in black undershirt and shorts, upright and almost formal, like he was at the conference table, but there is something earnest in his expression, his wide eyes. He is unmarried, but for the first time Cardinal wonders if he is … untouched, surely more unusual for a man of his class than for a trooper whose every moment has been timetabled, regimented, to leave no room for such triviality.

The thought brings on a fresh urge to touch him, his soft, delicate skin, to give him whatever simple, animal pleasure his life has not allowed him. He approaches slowly, bare feet sinking into the thick carpet, Armitage’s hungry eyes on him all the way. He half expects to be hurried along again with some impatient sneer, but Armitage just reaches for him; Cardinal has a moment to marvel at the warmth and intimacy of the skin-to-skin contact before Armitage licks his lips and looks up, puts his tongue out, licks a wet stripe up Cardinal’s erection. It feels wonderful, and Cardinal’s hands clench involuntarily at his side, his mouth falling open.

Armitage keeps him standing, holds him by the hips and fumbles his mouth around him, little by little. Cardinal widens his stance to stay steady, tries to keep some control. Armitage grows in confidence quickly, starts to press with his tongue, to push deeper, pulls off to gulp frantic breaths before he goes back to it with a determined expression. When Cardinal cannot stop himself from clasping his hands to the back of Armitage’s head he moans around him and doubles his efforts. Touching himself is always perfunctory, efficient, but Cardinal does not want this to be over so quickly.

Cardinal has to stop him, sure this can’t be all he wants, but tugging on his hair has him dropping a hand to his shorts and moaning again until a harder yank pulls him back. Cardinal feels flooded with adrenaline, almost reckless, and for a second he thinks he has gone too far: Armitage drops back onto his elbows, though, and his expression is some delirious mix of smug and stunned. He is flushed red all the way down to his chest and obviously hard in his shorts, and he shuffles back on the bed, legs spread in invitation.

His mouth was good but being close to him like this is better, his whole body straining for more, to touch Cardinal everywhere, every inch of him warm and eager. Now he knows Armitage likes to be treated a little roughly he can give him that too, hold him down at the shoulder and take off his shorts, push up his undershirt and drag it over his head before shoving him back down.

“You’d better fuck me,” Armitage gasps, his arms still thrown over his head while Cardinal tastes the shining sweat along his sternum. “Before it’s too late.”

He’s right, and he no longer seems annoyed at the idea of having to show Cardinal how. Armitage scrabbles over to the side of the bed to retrieve something - lubricant, slathering his own fingers before he lays back down and hitches up a leg. Cardinal lets him take care of that part, watches how his face changes as he touches himself. He’s scowling like he’s uncomfortable; Cardinal touches his lips to Armitage’s burning cheeks, strokes his fingers cautiously up and down his chest, and he shivers, seems to relax a little more. His skin is soft and hot everywhere Cardinal takes his mouth, down his neck and shoulders, his chest and belly, and he’s laughing and cursing as Cardinal kisses him, still working his fingers between his legs. Cardinal sneaks a hand down to stroke himself, wanting to stay ready but not too close.

“Get off, get off,” Armitage laughs when Cardinal reaches the thin stretch of skin at his hip. He starts trying to turn over but Cardinal pushes down his shoulder.    

“Stay where you are,” he tells him, with a thrill beyond the anticipation.

“Alright then,” Armitage replies, raising his eyebrows, and then his arms over his head again. Cardinal obliges him by spreading a hand to pin his wrists.

They’re both breathless already, and when Cardinal starts to push inside Armitage makes a sound like he’s been struck. Cardinal kisses his face again and it calms him again, makes him breathe out in a long, slow stream.

“It’s alright,” Cardinal tells him, though his own heart is pounding like it might burst out of his chest. His voice comes out hoarse and rough. Armitage lifts his legs higher and it helps, both of them crying out with the changing sensation. Cardinal rocks his hips, shallow but getting deeper every time, and the more he does it the more Armitage sighs and shifts beneath him, starts moving with him. He’s frowning as if in concentration and Cardinal can’t stop kissing him, all over his face, almost compulsively, mindlessly pressing his mouth wherever he can. 

It doesn’t take long for Armitage to regain his focus, like he’s remembered to fight any kind of tenderness. He pulls his hands free and rakes his stubby nails down Cardinal’s back, making him hiss and arch with a rough flex of his hips. Armitage rocks up to meet it, his head thrown back, and Cardinal catches his bared throat with lips, even teeth, lust and frustration welling up terribly in him.

The rest is just how Armitage wants it, harsh and fast, exhilarating as the kind of dirty fight that’s a distant memory. He reaches down to finish himself before Cardinal can do it, his scowl finally going slack and soft again.

“Do you like it?” Cardinal asks frantically, needs to hear it. “Tell me it’s good.”

Armitage half-laughs half-gasps, still urging Cardinal into him with both hands on his backside. He presses his face close to his ear. “ _Fuck_ it’s good,” he hisses, drawing the words out, seeming to savour how filthy he can make them sound, and Cardinal’s hips snap harder. ”You’re so _fucking_ good,” Armitage tells him, and it’s enough to push him over the edge. His eyes squeeze closed and his mouth drops open, pleasure rippling through him.

He’s light-headed as it slows, his heart pounding, and he opens his eyes to Armitage’s wide, wicked smile. He doesn’t resist this time when Cardinal kisses him, his lashes fluttering and soft, pleased sounds escaping him. Cardinal rests their foreheads together while he gets his breath back; but then Armitage is patting his shoulder insistently and he eases back, rolls over.

He stares at the ceiling in a blankness that’s almost blissful. He finds he has drifted, but not to sleep because he can hear Armitage get up and walk away, the water running in the refresher. Slowly, inevitably, panic starts to filter back in. Should he still be here when Armitage returns? Are they done? What _have_ they done, and what will it do to them? 

How has he repaid Brendol for all he has done for him?

Cardinal rolls to sit, head in his hands. He hears a snort, and looks up to find Armitage at the fresher door. His hair is slicked back, wet rather than gelled, and he’s wrapped in one of the guest room’s thick white robes, wineglass back in his hand.

“Stop thinking about my father,” he snaps. “It’s me he’d be angrier with and you know it.”

The truth of it doesn’t make Cardinal feel any better, and he pushes himself awkwardly to his feet. “I should go,” he says. “Sir,” he adds, and Armitage snorts again.

“Should you really?”

Cardinal nods. If he knows anything about what happens from now on, he knows this. Mercifully, he only has to make it through the door to his adjoining room rather than back into clothing and down a corridor.

Armitage follows him through to the sitting room, folds himself onto the sofa and watches Cardinal gather up his armour. It will certainly need to be cleaned now he’s touched it in this state.

Armitage still has the pink flush high on his cheeks and it suits him. “Running off to tell daddy, then?” he asks.

Cardinal halts, straightens up with a shin plate in his hand.

“No,” he says, and the truth of _that_ hits him like a stun grenade.

Armitage smiles. “I appreciate that,” he says, and takes a long drink. He sits back against the cushions and stretches out, half of the robe falling away and exposing a long, pale thigh. He looks thoroughly satisfied and wretchedly good.

Cardinal swallows, the sight and the memories stirring something low and terrible in him again, for all that his muscles still tremble and his heart still clatters. He holds his red armour in pieces in his arms, and wonders just what kind of mistake he has made.  



End file.
